


ice cream cones and stained red lips

by laurenshappenstobemyhusband



Series: Haikyuu!! One Shots [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Is A Smart Ass, Bokuto Koutarou Has ADHD, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Thats basically why I gave it a T, The thirst is real, Tutoring, Violinist Akaashi Keiji, only for a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenshappenstobemyhusband/pseuds/laurenshappenstobemyhusband
Summary: As punishment for hacking the school files, and to try and put him back on the right track, Akaashi is sentenced to tutor the most unteachable boy in Fukurodani: Bokuto Koutarou
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Haikyuu!! One Shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555102
Comments: 13
Kudos: 661





	ice cream cones and stained red lips

**Author's Note:**

> Bad boy Akaashi is my rare love (even if hes just a bad boy nerd). Bokuto is a love no matter how he is
> 
> Writing this on my phone which is sooooo annoying (how do you people do it?)

Akaashi is being punished, and his punishment is Bokuto Koutarou.

The “being punished” part doesn’t really bother him. He knew something was going to happen when he hacked into the school files, changing around the grades of some of the most underperforming students. He didn’t touch his own, of course — he didn’t have to — and never upped the grades by more than a point, but it didn’t matter to the school board. He needed discipline, according to them, and that was when Bokuto came in.

”Akaashi, we aren’t going to expel you,” the principal had said immediately, to the audience of Akaashi, his parents, and the school disciplinarian. Akaashi’s mother had sighed in relief, but Akaashi didn’t do more than blink. He was the top student in the school, and he had counted on his reputation — along with his parents’ — to get him through this. Evidently, he was right.

”What’s my punishment then?” he had asked, leaning forward. He knew that the principal couldn’t do crap to him, and it was... amusing. His parents found it less amusing, but that was their own issue.

”Well, ah, you do have to be punished,” the principal clarified, and Akaashi had almost smiled. _Hit me with your best shot, sir._ “Do you recognize the name Bokuto Koutarou?”

This had given Akaashi pause. “I believe so, sir. Was he one of the students whose grades I altered?” He had never met the boy, but his atrocious grades spoke for themselves.

”Yes, precisely.” The principal took a deep breath, fixing his glasses. “In lieu of community service hours or a suspension, which we don’t believe would help you in any way, you’re to tutor Bokuto Koutarou for the rest of the semester.”

Akaashi almost laughed out loud. “That’s it?” His parents both stared at him, but they weren’t part of the show. Right now, the only people of importance to Akaashi were the principal and the mysterious Bokuto Koutarou.

”Um, yes.” The principal looked uncomfortable, but carried on. “Bokuto is a third year. If he doesn’t pass his classes this semester, he will have to repeat the whole year. Therefore, it is your responsibility to help him pass each of his classes.”

Before Akaashi could respond, his father jumped in. “Sir, with all due respect, it is not Keiji’s responsibility to make sure that some random third year passes his classes. It is unreasonable to stick these expectations upon him.”

Akaashi’s mom added, “Keiji doesn’t have time to tutor anybody. He has his own work to attend to, along with his violin lessons every day. Surely there is something else you can discipline him with.”

Akaashi ignored both of them, speaking directly to the principal. “I accept your terms, sir. If you’ll give me Bokuto’s contact information, I can start as soon as tomorrow.” 

The principal nodded, shaking his hand. “And I’m sure you’ll refrain from hacking into the school files again, correct?” he asked more apprehensively than he should’ve. Akaashi said yes, and he meant it. He had a new challenge on his plate.

”Why did you do it?” his mom had asked as they left the office. “Why did you hack the files?”

_I was bored, Mother. I wanted to see if I could do it. I knew that nothing would come of it. I had a free afternoon. The monotony of my life was starting to suffocate me._

”I wanted to practice my coding skills,” Akaashi had responded, as innocently as he could manage. How could his parents doubt him, when he was their best and only child?

-

With Bokuto sitting right in front of him, Akaashi is starting to see why he’s failing all of his classes.

The boy can’t sit still, plain and simple. Akaashi has never met someone so hyperactive in his life. He would never survive in Akaashi’s world of long dinners and longer recitals, hours upon hours of drivel.

But he doesn’t have to. All he has to do is pass history. And all of his other classes.

”Bokuto-san, which subject do you want to start with?” Akaashi asks.

”Oh! Uh, whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me,” Bokuto replies, too loudly for the library. They get a handful of glares from students around them, but Bokuto is unaffected. Must be used to it, then.

”Calculus it is.” Akaashi took Calculus last year, but he still remembers it clearly. “Do you have any worksheets with you?”

”Yeah, one sec!” Bokuto riffles through his bag, eventually retrieving a crumpled sheet of paper and slamming it on the table triumphantly. Akaashi tries not to wrinkle his nose too much.

“Do you have any folders?” he asks, staring into the depths of Bokuto’s bag. From what he can tell, his papers are all shoved inside in a mass of disarray. 

“Um, I think my mom got me a couple in the beginning of the year, but I don’t know where they are.” He scratches the back of his head, looking pouty. “Do I need one?”

”Yes, but that’s not what we’ll focus on now,” Akaashi answers immediately. _Baby steps, Keiji, baby steps._ ”Let’s start looking at the sheet, shall we?”

After smoothing out the paper to the point of legibility, Akaashi sits beside Bokuto, squinting at the paper. The questions are all variations of the same formula. If you get one, you get them all. Akaashi always hated those kinds, since they only wasted his time, but it’ll be good for Bokuto to get some practice.

”Now then, start the first problem. When you’re finished, I’ll check it over.”

Akaashi takes out a book he packed for himself, turning to the first page. He figures that he’ll be able to get through the first chapter by the time Bokuto’s done, but when he makes it to the second chapter without so much as a peep from the other boy, he shuts his book in resignation.

On paper, it looks like Bokuto tried _really hard_ for a good minute. There are more crossed out numbers than legible ones, and the entire top part of the page is taken up by increasingly small writing. There is no answer in sight.

Beside the attempts to answer this question are drawings. Little ones of owls and books and someone who looks remarkably like Bokuto sleeping in bed.

Akaashi looks up at Bokuto, who immediately averts his eyes.

”If you didn’t understand it, you could’ve said something,” Akaashi says quietly. Bokuto’s foot tapping only grows more incessant.

”I _thought_ I understood it but then I lost my focus and I couldn’t remember how my teacher did it and my hand just started coloring and—“ 

Akaashi shushes him, cutting off his ramble. “I’m not blaming you, Bokuto-san. Merely reminding you that as your tutor, I’m here to help you. I won’t judge you if you need my assistance.”

Bokuto stares at him, wide-eyed. Then he breaks out into a wide grin. “Akaashi, I knew you were chill! Honestly I was kinda scared when I heard you were tutoring me since you’re in all of those advanced classes and stuff and you seem so angry all the time but you’re actually really nice!”

”Do I seem angry?” Akaashi asks.

”Welllllllll I passed you in the hallway a couple of times and you looked kind of grumpy but maybe those were just bad days.”

Akaashi pauses, thinking it over. He’s been told once or twice that he has a resting bitch face — whatever that means — but he didn’t think he looked angry _all the time._

“Huh,” he says simply, leaning over to take another look at the worksheet. “I’ll explain this as well as I can, and make sure to tell me if you don’t understand something, alright?”

Bokuto is nothing but smiles as he says, “For sure!” They get shushed again by the librarian, but they both disregard her this time.

Akaashi starts doing the steps on a new sheet of paper, writing big and clearly. He narrates what he’s doing out loud too, since he gets the sense that Bokuto is an auditory learner. It takes only a minute, and once he’s done, he presses the pencil into Bokuto’s hand.

”Think you can do it?” he asks, and Bokuto nods eagerly.

He does seem to get it, at least for the first steps. When Akaashi sees he’s struggling on something, he’s quick to remind him of the next step. Soon enough, Bokuto is circling the answer with a victorious smile.

”That was awesome, Akaashi!” he exclaims. “I never really get it when the teacher explains and they always move too fast but you’re really good at keeping my attention and helping me get it.”

”It’s hard for teachers to help individual students, since they have so many of them,” Akaashi says, brushing the compliment away. “That being said, they could also be more sympathetic towards different learners. You’re not dumb, Bokuto-san, you just take in information differently.”

Bokuto stares at him for a second, dumbfounded, and then his smile returns. He wraps an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, directing his full 1000-watt beam at him. “I like you, Akaashi. We should be friends.”

Now it’s Akaashi’s turn to stare. “Alright,” he says, because what else can he say? How else can he address the ray of light before him?

They spend the rest of the session going through the rest of the questions. Bokuto can handle most of them on his own, only requiring a hint every so often. The real challenge is keeping his attention on the paper, as it seems that he’d rather look at _anything else._

“Bokuto-san, focus,” Akaashi says when he catches the other boy staring at the librarian stamping books in the front. His fingers tap subconsciously on the table in a pattern only he would know. Bokuto blinks hard, then bites his lip guiltily.

”Sorry ‘Kaashi,” he mumbles, turning back to the paper. 

“It’s fine,” Akaashi is quick to reassure him. “If you need a break, just say so.”

”Really?” Bokuto looks eager to take him up on his offer, but he quickly shakes his head. “No, I’m almost done with this. Don’t let me go until I’m done.”

”You won’t be able to focus if your mind is elsewhere, and you won’t retain any of it.” Akaashi is firm in this. “Leave your paper here, we’ll be back in a minute. We’re just going to take a walk outside.”

Bokuto raises his eyebrows, waiting to see if he’s joking, but Akaashi is dead serious. He knows enough about ADHD from various psychology books to make this decision.

The walk is only a minute long, but by the time they get back, Bokuto looks twice as ready to work. He finishes the last two questions quicker than the previous one, and Akaashi checks them both off with a small smile.

”All correct, Bokuto. Nice job.” He knows why he’s doing poorly in all of his classes, but he also knows that he shouldn’t be. He wasn’t lying when he said that Bokuto isn’t dumb; it’s the education system that failed him. Akaashi is determined not to do the same.

”Really? Thanks!” Bokuto shoves the sheet back in his bag, and Akaashi winces. _I’ll have to get him a folder some time or another._ “Are you going home now?”

”Yes, I don’t have any extracurriculars,” Akaashi says, grabbing his bag.

”Cool, me neither! Usually I have volleyball practice but we have free today. I’ll walk you!”

Again, Akaashi has no idea how to respond. “You don’t have to do so, Bokuto-san. You don’t know where I live, it might be totally out of your way.”

”Nah, it’s all good,” Bokuto says with a grin. “It’s the least I could do for you helping me with all of this. Besides, I could use the exercise anyway.”

Akaashi doesn’t refute this, even though one look at Bokuto would do all the arguing for him. Akaashi isn’t weak, but he’s sure that Bokuto could crush him in half easily with one giant, muscular arm.

”Alright then.” Akaashi waits for Bokuto to gather his stuff, then leads the way out. “Follow me, I suppose.”

Akaashi’s never walked home with someone before, so he isn’t sure about the etiquette. _Is it like dinner conversation, or perhaps more casual than that? How does one just talk?_

Bokuto has no problem just talking, gesturing with his hands to accentuate his words. He tells his entire life story, talking about his favorite foods, the teachers he doesn’t like, the various pranks he pulled off during his time at Fukurodani, and most of all, volleyball.

”I swear, if I could play volleyball every second of every day, I’d be happy forever,” Bokuto says with a happy sigh. “It makes me feel unstoppable, ya know? Do you have anything that makes you feel like that?”

Akaashi thinks hard about it. “I play violin?” he offers, knowing how weak it sounds. 

Bokuto’s eyes light up anyway. “That’s awesome! I always wanted to play an instrument but the lessons were _so long_ and I couldn’t sit by the piano for more than a minute before wanting to smash my head in.”

”I can imagine,” Akaashi says with a light chuckle.

They reach Akaashi’s house, and Bokuto marvels at the size. “Whoa, you live here? It’s huge!”

Akaashi scratches his head, shrugging. “We’ll meet again tomorrow at the library again,” he says, opening the gate. “Thank you for walking me, Bokuto-san.”

”My pleasure!” Bokuto says, and the boys part ways.

The next day, Bokuto comes prepared with his Japanese literature book. Akaashi comes prepared with a few things of his own, too.

”What is this?” Bokuto asks, picking up the stress ball. “Is it for me?”

”Yes,” Akaashi answers. “So you can focus better while you read. It should help with your foot tapping, too.”

”Wow. How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Akaashi isn’t ready to admit that he researched ADHD-related studying the night before, and simply says, “Logic. Now help me organize your stuff.”

Bokuto tears his eyes away from the stress ball to see the multicolored folders covering the table. “Wow,” he repeats. “You really went all out. How much did all of this cost you?”

”Nothing,” Akaashi lies smoothly. “It’s all stuff from around my house. Didn’t cost a thing.”

They spend the first twenty minutes of their session emptying Bokuto’s bag and sorting the contents into respective folders. Akaashi can’t help but gape as Bokuto retrieves a worksheet he had lost in his first year of high school.

”I really needed this,” he admits, straightening a paper on the edge of the table. “You’re too good, Akaashi.”

Akaashi’s ears turn pink, and he doesn’t reply to the statement. He has heard many people say how good he is, complimenting him for a lot more than being able to put papers into folders, but somehow coming from Bokuto, it feels more real.

Literature is harder for Bokuto, since he’s stuck staring at the page for extended periods of time. Akaashi can see him playing with the stress ball, and it seems to be helping somewhat, but his eyebrows are still furrowed, and his eyes flick away from the page every time he doesn’t think Akaashi is looking.

”Take a break,” Akaashi finally says, pulling the book from him. 

”It won’t help,” Bokuto says, yanking it back. “It won’t stop the words from blurring together. It’s better if I just power through it.” 

”Hmmm.” Akaashi takes the book back, placing a hand on Bokuto’s wrist when he tries to take it back. “Have you tried using a reader?”

Bokuto blinks at him. “Huh?”

”You know, having someone read you the passages. They have them available for testing to those who need it. You need only ask the teacher.” When Bokuto continues to stare, Akaashi says, “I’ll read the passage to you. Just make sure you keep listening, alright?”

Bokuto nods once, eyes set on Akaashi’s face. “I won’t let you down!”

Akaashi enjoys reading out loud. He’s self aware enough to admit to himself that he likes the sound of his own voice, and he always volunteers to read out loud in class when they read old scripts. For Bokuto, it feels extra important.

The piece is something he’s never read before, and he finds himself analyzing it as he reads. Once or twice he looks up at Bokuto to see if he’s paying attention, but his eyes are always focused, and he always gives Akaashi a thumbs up and a smile whenever he checks.

”I really think I got it,” he says once Akaashi’s finished. “You’re really good at reading. You should be one of those youtube narrator people. I could listen to you talk all day.”

”You’re too much, Bokuto,” Akaashi murmurs, his ears turning red once again. For all the compliments he receives, he can never get used to the ones given by the owl haired boy. “Do you think you can answer the questions by yourself, then?”

”I know I can!” Akaashi admires his confidence, however baseless it may be. 

They finish early, and Akaashi suggests moving on to a new subject.

”Bah, why ruin a perfectly good afternoon with a history lesson?” Bokuto says. “It’s still light out. We should get ice cream.”

Akaashi doesn’t know how Bokuto gets him to come, but somehow he finds himself eating vanilla ice cream opposite Bokuto, who’s already half finished with his chocolate cone, most of it smeared on his face. He fights the urge to wipe it off, instead sliding him a stack of napkins. He’s endearing, that much is for sure.

”How do you keep your hands so clean?” Bokuto asks, scrubbing at his face furiously with a napkin. “You aren’t stained at all. Is it like an acquired talent or something?”

”Yes Bokuto-san. Every week I attend secret ice cream eating classes, which help me retain my cleanliness even with the messiest cone. You mustn’t tell anyone this, as it’s a family secret.”

”You’re messing with me,” Bokuto says accusingly, and Akaashi can’t hold back the grin spreading across his face. 

”You’re right, I am. Although you did seem to believe it for a moment.”

”How could I not? You looked so serious about it too. You’re a dangerous liar, Akaashi.”

”Yes, I suppose I am.”

On their walk home, Bokuto finally asks the million dollar question.

”Why are you tutoring me?” He doesn’t seem to know anything about Akaashi’s punishment, and Akaashi is loathe to tell him. Despite all of Bokuto’s pranks, he doesn’t want the older boy to think less of him for his actions. The principal, his parents, fine. But Bokuto? It would be insufferable.

”For college, I’ve heard that volunteering looks good, so I asked the school if they could pair me up with someone,” Akaashi says simply. “It’s a coincidence that it happened to be you.”

“A good coincidence, right?” Bokuto looks so cheery that Akaashi can’t bring himself to answer sarcastically.

”Yes, Bokuto-san. A good coincidence indeed.”

-

They devise a schedule to work around Bokuto’s volleyball and Akaashi’s violin. They meet late at night, after both of their practices have ended. After being officially kicked out of the school library — Bokuto’s fault entirely, but Akaashi doesn’t nag him about it too much — they agree to start meeting at Akaashi’s house instead.

They try Bokuto’s house once, but his three little brothers and one sister all crowd to the room immediately, and the entirety of the study session is spent playing mario kart (Bokuto teaches Akaashi how to play) while Bokuto’s siblings pile on Akaashi. As the only child to his parents, Akaashi is unused to the attention, but takes it all in stride. 

Akaashi’s house is big and quiet, with his parents always out late for meetings or dinners or galas. They try to bring Akaashi with them, but now he has an excuse.

”Sorry Father, I cannot make it to the dinner tonight. Bokuto has a chemistry test tomorrow and it is vital that he learns his geometric figures by then.”

”I apologize, Mother, but I can’t come to the opera with you. Bokuto is writing his English essay and I have to be there to help him with the grammar.”

Before they meet him, Akaashi’s parents have mixed feelings about Bokuto.

”He seems to be taking up a lot of your time,” his mother observes. “Maybe you should cut back on tutoring him. Twice a week should suffice.”

”I do believe I can handle my own schedule, Mother,” Akaashi responds as pleasantly as he can, even though her suggestion makes his skin crawl. She backs off after that, but he knows that she’s still hesitant about it.

Then Bokuto meets Akaashi’s parents on one memorable occasion, where Akaashi’s parents look from the cheery boy in front of them to their own quiet son, and promptly decide that Bokuto is a part of the family.

”Stay for dinner sometime, Bokuto,” his father says, shaking his hand. 

”We’d love to have you,” his mom adds. “Keiji, tell him he can stay for dinner anytime.” 

”Mother, don’t embarrass him,” Akaashi says, one hand pressed to his face. “Come on, Bokuto, let’s study history.” He leads him by the elbow up the stairs, and Bokuto waves to them before being yanked out of sight.

”Sorry, was I weird in front of your parents?” he asks when they’re safely in Akaashi’s room. 

”No, you were perfect,” Akaashi says, running a hand through his hair. “They were weird though, I apologize.”

”Nah, I’m used to it. I don’t know if you can tell, but parents love me.” 

“Many people do,” Akaashi says without thinking, flushing once he realizes what he said. It’s nothing that isn’t true; besides for the faculty, everyone seems to like Bokuto to a certain extent. He’s constantly invited to parties on the weekends, and his contacts list on his phone is at least triple the size of Akaashi’s. Akaashi just doesn’t know why he said it out loud in the first place.

Bokuto just looks pleased, leaning back in his chair. “You flatter me too much, Akaashi. Kuroo says that I have an ego problem, so don’t tell him you said that.”

Akaashi has no idea who Kuroo is, but says anyway, “I’ll make sure not to bring it up. Now history, Bokuto, you need at least an eighty.”

”I’m sure you’ll help me get one,” he replies easily. “What do I get if I get an eighty, anyway?”

Akaashi blinks at him. “You get to graduate,” he says, confusion filling his voice.

”I know _that,_ ‘Kaashi, but what will _you_ give me?”

Akaashi’s face turns pink, even though there’s nothing suggestive (or rather, too suggestive) about Bokuto’s words. “I have no idea what you mean.”

”Aha! I got it. If I get over an eighty on this test, you have to come to one of my volleyball games.”

Akaashi relaxes on his bed, and he considers it. Even though, his brain reminds him, his gift to Bokuto is helping him pass in the first place. It isn’t as though going to his volleyball game is a punishment, and if he’s being honest, he was probably going to go to one eventually anyway. From the way Bokuto talks it up, it seems like an experience.

”An eighty five,” he settles on. “Then I’ll go to one of your games.”

”Whaaaaaaaaaat? You’re setting your standards too high! You of all people should know that an eighty is great for me.”

Akaashi ignores Bokuto’s pouting as always. “If you really want me to come to your game, then you will agree to my terms. Also, I have confidence that if you really try, you can get an eighty five.”

”It’s a paradox,” Bokuto says with a huff. “You’re always right, but I’m never able to get an eighty five.”

”How do you know about paradoxes?” Akaashi asks, more than a little impressed.

”You told me about them a few weeks ago, when you were explaining your book,” Bokuto says, making his way out of his slump. “I always listen to what you say.”

”Yeah? Then you’ll do great on this test, since I’m about to review all of the content,” Akaashi says, opening his textbook. “Ready for an eighty five?”

”Ready for a hundred.” As far as Bokuto’s slumps go, this one passed relatively quickly.

He gets an eighty eight on his test, complete with a “Nice job!” and a smiley face at the top. Akaashi doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.

The Fukurodani gym is huge and boisterous, much like Bokuto himself. The stands are packed, since the boys’ volleyball team apparently has quite the reputation. Akaashi sits next to someone from his class near the front, squinting to try and find Bokuto’s jersey.

”Do you see number four anywhere?” he asks, and his classmate points to the back, where Bokuto (and it’s unmistakably Bokuto) sits on the bench, talking animatedly with one of his teammates. Akaashi keeps his eyes trained on him as he stands up to join the front lines, giving high fives out all around. Their opponent is a school Akaashi’s never heard of, but it doesn’t matter who they are. He’s here for Bokuto (and to a lesser extent, the rest of the Fukurodani team).

As captain, Bokuto meets with the captain of the other team. They shake hands, return to their sides, and with a blow of the whistle, the game starts. Fukurodani serves first.

Akaashi knows next to nothing about volleyball. What little he does know is anecdotal, coming from Bokuto’s definitely-exaggerated stories. But sitting in front of the action, with the squeaks of the sneakers on hardwood floor mingling with the cheers coming from the stands, Akaashi can say that it’s exhilarating, even from a bystander’s position. He can only imagine how Bokuto feels, being out there on the court.

Every time a ball is set to Bokuto, Akaashi holds his breath, waiting to see if he’ll be able to slam it to the floor. Nine times out of ten, the impact is audible all the way to the stands, and the ball goes shooting down into the other side. That one remaining time, Bokuto’s scowl can be seen throughout the gym, and his teammates tell him to “shake it off”. Akaashi holds his breath at these moments too — this match is awful for his respiratory system — but Bokuto always manages to get back into it after a few seconds.

The score isn't even close. The stands are filled with 95% Fukurodani fans, and the noise is loud enough to drill into Akaashi’s brain and drown out any thoughts. He looks again for Bokuto, but he's lost in a sea of celebrating teammates and well wishers. The mosh pit isn’t Akaashi’s favorite place to be, so he waits patiently in his seat, picking at his cuticles. He’s out of his element, in this big loud arena.

He feels something knock into him, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being lifted out of his seat.

”Akaashi, I knew you’d come!” he hears, and he relaxes slightly. He’s not worried anymore, but another emotion is taking its place. Something much less easy to identify.

”Bokuto-san, what are you doing?” Akaashi asks, looking down at a mop of black and white hair. Bokuto tilts his head up to meet his eyes, unaware that this brings their faces infinitely closer.

”I’m celebrating!” he shouts. “Did you see those killer spikes I did? Coach says that I was top of my game today!”

”I did see,” Akaashi says, pushing himself back slightly off Bokuto’s chest. “You’re the ace, correct? You had a lot of nice hits.”

Bokuto finally puts him down, puffing his chest out in pride. “I told you these games are great. Did you enjoy yourself? These are pretty good seats.”

“Yes, it was nice,” Akaashi says, a little out of focus. The adrenaline from the whole game and being picked up like that by Bokuto is still rushing through his system, making him hyperaware of everything around him. Like Bokuto’s bright copper eyes still trained on him, and Bokuto’s powerful hand still placed on his arm.

It makes him want to do something crazy, like brush the sweaty strands from Bokuto’s forehead and see if his energy drink stained lips taste as good as they look.

He’s still out of focus, so he doesn't realize Bokuto asked him a question until his hand is waving in front of his face. “Wow, you’re the inattentive one today,” he notes with a laugh. “Trying to steal my rank?”

”Sorry, I was in my own head,” Akaashi says, blinking hard. “Can you repeat your question?”

”It was two questions, actually. One, wanna get some ice cream now? And two, I have another game next week, at Nekoma. Wanna come watch?” 

”To answer your first question, sure,” Akaashi says, checking to see if he has money on him. “I’ll treat you, since you played so well. As for your second question, you have a chemistry test coming up, do you not? Another eighty five and I’ll be there.”

Bokuto brightens up at the prospect of ice cream, but wilts at his other answer. “ _Another_ eighty five? You’re so demanding, Akaashi.”

”What can I say? I expect the best from you, Bokuto-san.”

They get ice cream, and Akaashi is drunk enough on life to finally admit why he has to tutor Bokuto.

”I hope you don’t think less of me,” he finishes, taking a bite of his cone. 

Rather than looking disgusted, Bokuto seems proud of his actions, which is doing nothing to help the horribly uplifting feeling growing in Akaashi’s chest. 

“I didn’t know my tutor was a total badass!” he says enthusiastically, bumping Akaashi’s fist. “You’re even more of a genius than I thought.”

If emotions alone could propel a person, Akaashi would be floating above the world.

-

Bokuto leaves for a week long training camp, although not before Akaashi catches a few more of his games. The last is just as exciting as the first, and Bokuto always finds him on the stands, picking him up “because I can,” in his words. Akaashi stopped fighting it long ago.

Akaashi doesn’t have time to miss Bokuto’s company (too much), since he’s busy with his own stuff. He has a violin recital coming up, probably the biggest one he’s ever had. It could mean college scholarships, if he’s good enough. And as loathe as he is to admit it, with his tutoring hours taking up so much of his time, he hasn’t been practicing as much as he should have been.

He spends the week eating, sleeping, and breathing violin. He practices for an hour before school, studies his music notes during lunch, and practices from the moment he gets home until his eyelids are too heavy to stay open. His parents give him much needed space, only stopping by his room to drop off food, and Akaashi makes sure to thank them each time, even if he feels like crap. _As soon as this is over, I’m treating myself to ice cream. With Bokuto._

On the day of the recital, Akaashi doesn’t even go to school. Instead, he spends the day tuning his violin, organizing his notes, and generally making sure that he doesn’t look like crap. He gets dressed into his nicest suit and tie (the light blue one that his mom says brings out his eyes) and stares at himself in the mirror.

”Chill out, Akaashi,” he says in his best Bokuto voice, and it manages to bring a smile out of him. He sends a quick text to the boy himself, telling him to wish him luck. Bokuto doesn’t respond, but he’s a notoriously late texter, so Akaashi doesn’t pay it too much mind. Besides, he’s still driving from Tokyo, so he’s probably asleep. By the time he actually wishes him luck, the recital will most likely be over.

His mom drives him to the hall, since his dad is at a meeting. She looks more nervous than he is, and he finds himself reassuring her that his violin is in the case, no, the speed bump didn’t damage it, yes, they have plenty of time to get there.

”Good luck, Keiji!” she whispers, walking to her seat, and he waves to her before joining the rest of the performers backstage. The whole hall is filled with high class parents in stuffy dress clothes. _Bokuto would find this hilarious,_ Akaashi thinks, then brushes the thought away. _Focus._

Before he knows it, he’s being beckoned to the stage, and he takes one shaky breath before taking his violin and bow out of the case. The people are friendly, telling him exactly where to sit and when to start. The lights are shining right on him, so he can’t see a single audience member, but he knows his mom is somewhere out there, so it helps somewhat.

The actual playing isn’t anything new to him. The sleepless nights of practice did him well, and he’s sure he could do it with his eyes closed if he wants to. He keeps his eyes firmly open for each note just in case.

There are three pieces in total, two slow and one quick. The quick one reminds him of Bokuto, and he allows himself to close his eyes for one glorious second, imagining this is how he feels when he hits one of those crazy fast spikes.

He takes his bows at the end, placing his violin back in the case with a flourish. The audience applauds him politely, and he thinks he can hear his mom, slightly louder than the rest of them. But he hears the loud whooping from the back most of all, and when he’s able to see again, it’s Bokuto’s copper eyes that he meets.

He isn’t sure who starts moving first, him or Bokuto, but they meet in the middle, staying to the side to avoid the dirty looks of other viewers. Their attention is already back in the stage for the next performer, but Akaashi is a hundred miles away.

”You were great!” Bokuto gushes, being shushed by no less than five people. He’s still in his practice clothes, a t-shirt and shorts, and hell, he’s still wearing knee pads. “I came straight from the training camp so sorry if I smell—“

He does smell, but Akaashi couldn’t care less, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. After a second of shock, Bokuto lifts him up, same as he always does after a game. 

”You look great, too,” he continues, lowering his voice but keeping the same enthusiasm. “I get why you fancy people wear suits, they look so professional.”

”Did you hear the whole thing?” Akaashi asks, his head stuck against Bokuto’s neck. 

”I came like forty five minutes ago because I didn’t want to miss yours,” Bokuto admits, scratching his head. “Yours was the best of all of them, though! I don’t know how you did all the notes so fast.”

”It must’ve been torture for you,” Akaashi whispers, “having to wait in your seat for so long. Recitals aren’t nearly as fun as volleyball games.”

”I know, but I came for you! You always tell me to wait for the good things, right?” Bokuto’s practically smirking now, and Akaashi couldn’t keep himself back if he tried. He wraps his arms around Bokuto’s neck, pressing his lips hard against the other boy’s mouth. He tastes like sweat and something sweet (lemon soda, Akaashi later finds out) and doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

”Right in public? There’s the bad boy Akaashi I heard about,” Bokuto says, pressing their foreheads together. 

”What can I say? It’s my reward for doing so well in the recital,” Akaashi responds, a little out of breath. “You’re right though, we shouldn’t do this in public.”

Bokuto pouts for a good five seconds before Akaashi starts pulling him towards the bathroom, a glint in his eye. 

”I think I like this bad boy Akaashi,” Bokuto breathes, pressing him against the wall of the single stall bathroom.

”I like every version of you,” Akaashi says honestly, taking off his suit jacket so it won’t be wrinkled. He loosens his tie too, since Bokuto keeps pulling at it by mistake.

”It’s a good thing I came tonight then, right?”

Akaashi doesn’t respond verbally, letting his actions give the resounding yes for him.

-

“So, did you learn your lesson?” the principal asks, sitting in front of Akaashi. It’s days before the end of school, and Bokuto is graduating with the rest of his class, on his way to college with a volleyball scholarship. Akaashi refuses to take any credit, saying Bokuto could do it with any old tutor, but he still lets Bokuto take him out to celebrate. Ice cream, of course.

”I learned a lot, sir,” Akaashi says truthfully, and if he’s smiling too much for a visit to the principal’s office, then sue him.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *says Ill write bad boy akaashi*  
> Also me: *writes akaashi doing one (1) bad thing and then makes him an angel as always*
> 
> Tumblr: laurenshappenstobemyhusband


End file.
